


Summer Eskpedition - Migratory Birds Day

by erasvita



Category: Those Who Went Missing
Genre: Gen, Migratory Birds, TWWM, developed biome, esk, eskpedition event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 05:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erasvita/pseuds/erasvita
Summary: Summer Eskpedition





	Summer Eskpedition - Migratory Birds Day

For once, it wasn’t raining - sunlight was streaming in through the greenhouse windows, filtering through glass to warm and nourish the plants calling this place their home. As morning turned to day, petals and leaves began to unfurl and stretch their green fingers higher, and higher; reaching for the outside world and the dazzling light it flourished. 

A single vine tapped against the windows, stirred to life by a stray breath of wind that crept in through the broken doorway. Slowly it scratched at the panes of glass that separated the world within from the world without, like the claws of a wolf knocking at the door. Except it did not beg to come in; let me out, it whispered with every strike, let me go free.

One day, the climbing ivy might grow tall and long enough to escape through one of the many fractured windows that decorated the greenhouse’s walls. One day its leaves might feel the virgin light of the sun, without glass in the way to scatter and diminish the light. One day there would be hope, if only for one of the many plants yet locked away, alone and forgotten. 

For others, however, there was no hope.

The flowers would forever be confined to their clay pots, and perhaps their only fate is to eventually be reduced to dried and pressed petals, like the bouquets of lavender swaying from the rafters. 

Like the esk curled up on the windowsill, his long tail flipped over the edge and drifting down to the floor. 

His eyes were closed to the sunshine, and its warmth would never reach his fur. He was a ghost, both by choice and by circumstance - while all the world kept turning, when all the plants rejoiced at the weather and strained for the sun, he alone was still. 

Renat sighed, his small chest deflating. It had been days since he had last moved from the windowsill - and yet, he was content to rest there a bit longer, listening to the quiet rustle of the drying plants overhead. The wind whistling through the abandoned greenhouse set them to dancing, so they spun in slow pirouettes in midair, long stalks bending like arms to embrace their partners around them.

Inside the world was slow and peaceful, muted light and soft sounds. Inside time slowed to a crawl, 

But the vine kept tapping, and when the wind next rocked the greenhouse it instilled within the trailing plant a sense of urgency. Again and again it beat out a new tempo on the glass, a pattern that sounded suspiciously like a frantic heartbeat, reverberating through the small attic.

_Tap-TAP, tap-TAP, tap-TAP._

His dark eyes opened at last, squinting through the hazy light. The window before him was grimy, turning the otherwise golden light green when it entered the greenhouse, sending uneven streaks across the floor. Renat rubbed one eye against his legs, _huff_ ing softly to himself at being disturbed from his sleep. 

The wind slows, holding its breath in anticipation, and finally the tapping on the window ceased.

The dark esk rose slowly, his tail a dry, scraping sound on the windowsill. 

He was silent, peering through a corner of the window that was not touched by grime. Outside it was a world of green, lively and bright and beautiful. The birds were singing, flitting from tree to tree, carrying sprigs of rosemary and berries within their beaks, hair and hay and feathers to build their nests with. Their song was a constant chatter, a swarm of blackbirds that twisted and turned in the air.

Something bright stuck out in their midst, a flash of yellow in a sea of black, disappearing one second only to reappear the next.

Interest finally piqued, Renat leaned closer to the window. 

But the flock turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

With a huff he sat back, squinting his eyes at the window. It was the same as anything else in the world - detached from his attic boundary, out of reach of the small, dark esk. He had accepted that long ago. 

He was turning away, ready to jump down from the windowsill and find a darker, more secluded spot to nap, where the tapping vine would not disturb him, when another flash of yellow caught his eye. Renat turned by instinct as it flashed past his window, too small and fast to catch a good glimpse.

He moved closer, pressing his face against the glass. His dark eyes moved back and forth, scanning the yard below, but he saw nothing. The blackbird flock, and the yellow blip traveling within it, was gone again, somewhere on the horizon, out of sight, out of reach.

But not quite out of mind. 

The esk waited patiently - his life moved so slowly, waiting came naturally to him.

And his patience was rewarded, for the flock returned. Dozens of small black birds lined a fence, chattering noisily at once another. And there at the end was the same yellow he had seen before.

But the fence was too far - he could hardly make out the familiar red winged blackbirds, let alone identify the strange newcomer. Renat frowned and took a step back from the window.

For a second he had a thought, a startling, adventurous idea. But he forced it down immediately, scoffing at himself as he hopped down from the window ledge. His tail was a cloak behind him as he crossed the attic, past old and forgotten gardening tools and memorabilia, collecting dust with the passing years. He crawled to the far corner, where the ceiling slanted low and the light faded. There he spun in a circle, drawing his tail up neatly into a makeshift bed, before he laid down atop it with a soft huff.

He closed his eyes, forcing thoughts of the outside world and the bright yellow stranger out of his mind.

And he willed himself to sleep.

For a few minutes it was peaceful.

But the wind sighed at him, and the tapping of the vine resumed. Even muted from his corner he heard it, and his eyes snapped open at once. Only this time it did not seem so much an intrusion, as an invitation, as if the plants outside were calling to the esk to come. 

It was an outrageous thought. Renat had only been outside of his boundary once before, and it was hardly by choice. His dark eyes slanted into a sharp vee, and if he had a mouth surely it would be frowning. He shook his head, burying his face into his fur in an attempt to block out the sounds of nature calling.

_Tap-TAP, tap-TAP, tap-TAP._

Renat sprang to his feet, unable to ignore it any longer. His steps were quick and light as he crossed the floor, weightless for a moment when he sprang back up to the windowsill. Had he any breath to hold he would, as he dared himself to look out the window -

\- The fence was empty. The birds were gone.

He sat there in silence for a moment, waiting for the familiar flock to return. But the skies were empty, and he realized with a sinking feeling that clouds were beginning to gather on the horizon once more. The wind coming in through the broken shutters was cold and wicked, laughing at the esk. _You missed your chance,_ it told him with a bite. _Now it’s too late._

But the tapping vine said otherwise.

And his mind was still thinking those outrageous thoughts, listening to the vine over the wind. 

It was like a switch had flipped, and the esk turned from the window once more. 

Without pausing (for if he paused, surely he would have changed his mind) he crossed the small attic space once more, to the stairs he had ignored since his transformation. Babika had invited him down those steps before, checking in on him frequently after his transformation. He had stood at the top of the steps with her before, but never had he dared to cross their threshold. And eventually her visits had slowed, and the staircase had grown dusty. 

Now that dust stirred as his paws touched the smooth, worn surface.

It was strange, walking down the stairs - he had not experimented much with his quadrupedal body, so as his shoulders dipped below his hips he had the strange sensation of falling. Unable to slow himself down he rushed to the body of the staircase, tripping and collapsing in a huff. 

The greenhouse looked different down here than from the top of the stairs.

All the walls were windows, the light streaming through them was golden, and the plants that littered the tables and windows were bright and happy. He could see the broken window now, the one that let in the wind and set all the plants to dancing, spinning slowly in their hangers. 

The greenhouse was much bigger than his attic, lighter and brighter. And although Babika was nowhere to be seen, it felt distinctly like her, for the esk had left her own imprint upon her boundary.

For a moment he simply stood there, taking it in. The doubts in his mind were back, the temptation to crawl back to his attic growing with every passing second. But the distant tapping broke through his mind, louder than the doubts, and Renat took his first step into the greenhouse. 

It felt different - like it was more effort to move his legs, like even the world was telling him that his attic was safer. But he went anyway, the dried lavender in his tail whispering words of encouragement as it dragged along the brick floor. 

It seemed to take ages when he finally reached the broken window, and the clouds were closer in the sky, wandering intermittently in front of the sun. Renat pressed his face into the space between the broken panes of glass, surprised by the chill of the wind on his face. It ran cold fingers through his fur, sweeping his tail across the floor behind him. 

His eyes scanned the yard, searching, hoping for the flock. He stood there for several minutes, his body coiled with tension, so still he may have been a statue, had he not been an esk.

He stood so long he nearly began to lose hope. But just when he was about to turn from the window, a shadow fell across the sky, and a bright and laughing song filled the air. The flock circled the yard, and Renat’s dark eyes scanned their ranks instinctively. For a long, hard moment, only black greeted his eyes, and the occasional flash of red and white from their wings.

But then! The yellow emerged from their center proudly, dancing on dark and slender wings beside the other birds. It was only the top half of him that was yellow, a bright patch of feathers coating his head and breast. White streaked the front of his wings, a line of feathers that contrasted brightly with the rest of his black body.

And when the flock alighted back on the fence, talking and laughing amongst themselves, he was there with them.

He was taller than the other birds, and more robust; his yellow head setting him apart from all the others. And yet he talked and laughed with them, and they accepted him as their own. 

The tapping of the vine was increasing again, beating rapidly like the heart Renat did not have. 

He leaned closer, squeezing his head through the broken window. And then his neck, and his shoulders; the rest of his body followed suit, and the dark esk dropped onto a wooden ledge beneath the window, outside of the greenhouse.

He was outside.

He crept slowly to the edge of the windowsill, but he would not go farther. He could see the birds clearly from here, and the ground seemed so very far away; the voice in the back of his mind was back, warning him, scolding him, calling him back to the attic.

But he pushed it away for a moment longer, watching the birds that stood on the fence not far from the greenhouse. Slowly he slid down onto his belly, his front paws hanging over the edge, his eyes transfixed.

He didn’t know how long he watched them chatter and preen for. His life was a slow one, and he did not notice the time passing by. 

**“Who are you,”** Renat whispered to the yellow-headed bird at last.

And he was surprised when the male swiveled his head to look at him, and their eyes met across the yard. The bird opened its beak and laughed, a bright, trilling sound that was not quite a song. For a moment Renat imagined the bird would answer him with words, but that would be silly he supposed.

The bird spread its wings, bumping its neighbor on the fence as he stretched and flapped. And then he jumped into the air, still laughing, and his wings caught the wind, pulling him farther into the sky. One by one the other birds followed him, and they took up his song and made it their own, laughing and singing and trilling and chattering. The air was alive with the sound of them, their wings adding to the wind as they flocked.

Together they rose like a single mass, their wings flapping as one. And when they turned towards the esk, led by the lone yellow-headed bird, he found himself frozen on the ledge, unable to move quickly enough to escape.

The flock flew harmlessly overhead, flying above the greenhouse and towards the woods behind it. Renat watched in awe, until the very last bird disappeared from view.

Their laughter echoed in his mind long after they flew away.

And the esk was left behind, outside and alone on the windowsill.

He would lay there a little longer, reflecting on the flock and the strange yellow bird that flew with them. And although he did not know it now, the bird would stay with them for a while longer, laughing and dancing with a flock that was not his own. But then with time he would leave, continuing on his journey to his southern home, leaving the esk with only his memory.

Perhaps the outdoors were not so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Final word count: 2408**  
>  **AP Breakdown**  
>  Base Score: 48 AP (Writing: 2408 words)  
> +5 AP (Personal Work Bonus)  
> +10 AP (Other Esk Bonus: 10 AP * 1)  
> +20 AP (Esk Interaction Bonus: 10 AP * 2)  
> +24 AP (Storyteller Bonus: 8 AP * 3)  
>  _Total AP per submission: 107_
> 
>  **GP Breakdown**  
>  Base Score: 24 GP (Writing: 2408 words)  
> +18 GP (Storyteller Bonus: 6 GP * 3)  
>  _Total GP per submission: 42_


End file.
